


New Years Eve

by My_Trex_has_fleas



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/pseuds/My_Trex_has_fleas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team are invited by Saito to a New Years Eve Party, but things don't go according to plan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cortexikid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/gifts).



> Cautionary warning - I have no idea where this is going ;D
> 
> Also I blame this entirely on you. You know who you are ;)

As it turned out, the Fischer job was just the beginning. Saito was not a man who was easily impressed and he had certainly been impressed. And the rewards for that had been bounteous indeed. In addition to Cobb’s little immigration problem, there was the question of a substantial remuneration for each member of the team as well as a standing invitation to stay with him whenever they found themselves in Japan. Once the job was done they all went their separate ways. Ariadne went back to school, Dom to his family, Yusuf to his test tubes and Arthur returned to New York, where he was primarily based. As for Eames, well he simply went wherever Eames was wont to go. It was a full year until they saw each other again.

The invitation had been hand delivered, bizarrely enough. But then Saito was traditional in so many ways. The envelope and the invitation inside were of luxurious heavy grade paper, silky to the touch and an elegant shade of oyster white. The writing was done in a precise, elegant script and signed off with Saito’s name written in kanji. It simply requested their presence at his estate in Kyoto for New Year’s Eve. It was accompanied by a first class air ticket to Japan.

**********

Ariadne and Arthur ended up on the same flight, originating from New York and connecting in Paris. She spotted him as she came on board and saw that her seat was in front of his. He looked up from the book he was reading and saw her, recognition flashing across his face in the form of a brief half smile that was gone as quickly as it came.

‘Ariadne.’ he said, as if he’d seen her yesterday. ‘How are you?’ 

‘Good.’ she said, supressing her delighted smile at the fact that Arthur hadn’t changed one iota in the year since she’d seen him. He was impeccably dressed as usual, his suit dove grey with a white shirt and a silvery-lavender tie that made his dark eyes glow. ‘You look good.’ 

‘I’ve been working.’ he said, as if that was the key to life and happiness, which for Arthur was true. ‘How are your studies progressing?’ He stopped when he saw her smiling at him. ‘What is it? Do I have something stuck in my teeth.’ Ariadne laughed and hugged the crap out him, prompting a great many protests about how she was wrinkling his shirt.

***********

They arrived in Tokyo twelve hours later, and found themselves being ushered into the lounge, while their luggage was being removed from the plane. There they also found a tall man with a thin, sallow face who intercepted them. 

He worked for Saito, and once he had their luggage in hand, guided them to a very comfortable sedan. Then he drove them the further out of Tokyo and to the estate in Kyoto. They arrived when it was already dark. They exited the car and made their way up the stairs to the front door where they were greeted by another of Saito’s employees. Then they were taken inside and shown to a room that was gloriously and very expensively furnished in fine European antiques and artwork. And sitting in an armchair that had no doubt cost an appalling amount of money, one leg crossed over the other and sipping from a heavy based cut crystal glass was the man himself. Saito rose and came forward.

‘My friends.’ he intoned, giving them a formal little bow. ‘I am honoured you have decided to join me.’ 

‘It is our honour to receive your invitation.’ Arthur replied, bowing deeper and Saito’s dark eyes glowed with pleasure. He turned to Ariadne, taking one hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. ‘You look lovely as always.’ He said and she flushed a little.

‘Thank you.’ she replied. 

‘But, I am sure you are both tired.’ he said, signalling the houseman with a slight raise of the eyebrow. ‘Please, allow us to reacquaint ourselves in the morning once you are rested and refreshed.’ He inclined his head and gesture for them to follow the houseman. 

The man led them to another part of the house, past screened doors and into another level that looked more western in design. Ariadne was shown to her room first. She entered and closed the door behind her with a cheery ‘Goodnight Arthur.’

Once inside she looked around the room she’d been given with barely concealed glee. It was exquisitely furnished from the massive and elaborately carved four poster bed draped in what seemed like yards of white muslin, to the white and gold tiled en-suite bathroom with a deep bateau bath that she could have probably done laps in. Thick Persian carpets lay underfoot, covering the highly polished teak flooring. Her suitcase was already in the room, lying atop a luggage holder.

On the bed she found a box of black lacquered wood, inset with a floral design in mother of pearl. When she opened it she found a beautifully made mask lying on a bed of white satin. She lifted it out carefully. It was delicate and she handled it as carefully as she would an egg. The porcelain it was made from was almost translucent, painted with broad bold strokes of crimson, black and gold. The edges were gilded and there were small black gems set into a line around each eye hole. It was pierced at each side and threaded with black velvet ribbon. Intrigued she placed it back in the box, then noticed that the door of the wardrobe was ajar. When she investigated further, she found a dress carrier and a shoe box inside. Both carried the name of a fashion house in Paris that she knew to be so exclusive they didn’t even have a shop. She took them out, laying the dress carrier down on the bed before unzipping it. The dress inside was strapless and elegant in its simplicity, also made from heavy black velvet that was as plush as animal pelt under her fingers. The shoe box held a pair of simple pumps in gold leather so soft she could have torn it with her nails. 

‘Well,’ she said to herself, ‘I didn’t know it was going to be that kind of party.’

***********

Arthur scanned the room, his precise mind taking in details others would happily have glossed over. But being a point man meant always knowing one’s surrounding intimately. He took in the heavy teak furniture, the deep blue and crimson colour scheme, noted the number of windows, possible escape routes and the quickest way to the black marble bathroom. He also noticed that there was a suit carrier laid out on the bed that was not his, along with a box lacquered in blue and cold. He approached, opening the box with care. Inside, on bed of navy blue velvet was a mask. It had a sheen like haematite, simple and beautifully sculpted, pierced and strung with grey silk ribbon. He frowned. This was an unexpected detail, and Arthur didn’t like unexpected details. 

There was a noise behind him and he whirled, body and mind alert, Glock in hand from where he’d drawn it from the holster secreted under his jacket. Ah. There was another detail, although this one was not as unexpected, leaning in the doorway. He was unshaven and rumpled, wearing a shirt in zigzag stripes of blue, turquoise and green that almost hurt Arthur’s eyes to look at. Blue-grey eyes stared appraisingly at him. There was crystal glass in his hand, identical to the one Saito had been drinking from. It looked like it contained Scotch.

‘I should have known you’d be around somewhere.’ Arthur said, returning the stare. The man in the doorway raised the glass to his lips, sipping and managing to inject a level of filth into the way he licked his lips afterward that would not have been out of place in a brothel. He gave Arthur a crooked smile.

‘Hello darling.’ he said.

‘Hello Eames.’ Arthur replied.


	2. Breakfast Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

Cobb arrived the next morning. Eames was honestly surprised to see him. He’d expected Cobb to luxuriate in his newfound freedom for as long as he’d wallowed in his despair. But there he was, sitting across the table from them at breakfast, clear eye and smiling a hell of a lot more than he had when Eames had seen him last. He had doled out hugs and handshakes and Eames saw the charismatic man that had been before Mal had killed herself and taken him down with her.

Ariadne was sitting next to Eames, one foot tucked up underneath her like a child, her dark eyes watching every move he made. In spite of their age difference, her and Eames had always been sympatico. He appreciated her enormously, her and her no nonsense attitude. She was telling him about school, her studies and her successes in her exams. But at the same time those dark bird’s eyes, bright and sharp, were watching him watching the object of his distraction. 

Ah, yes. Arthur.

Arthur with his Ivy League accent, hiding the fact that he was a small town boy from Minnesota. Arthur who’d cultivated a taste for Saville Row suits and wine that ran at a thousand dollars a bottle. Arthur who’d spent four years as Special Forces and could kill a man thirty different ways. Arthur, whose boyish face belied the fact that underneath those expensive clothes and urbane manners was a hard muscled body and the ability to make Eames forget himself and scream the roof off. Arthur, who captivated and held him like no other man ever had.

Their encounters had been few and far between. In fact, Eames could count the number of times they had slept together on one hand. And yet, each and every one was etched into his brain like patterns etched into crystal. The last had been the night before the Fischer job, a few stolen hours that had left them sweaty and exhausted. But the next day, Arthur had been back to his usual pragmatic unflappable self, a crooked half smile the only acknowledgement of what had passed between them. And that was the nature of their relationship, if one could call it that. 

But it had been a full year since they had seen each other, and now Eames just wanted to drink in the sight of him. So he watched Arthur and Ariadne watched him, with a small smile on her face. Arthur, of course, was pretending to be unaware of Eames’ scrutiny and talking to Cobb about what he’d been doing in the past year. He was telling him about jobs and places he’d been, but it was all a blur to Eames’ ears. Instead he focused on the low pitch of Arthur’s voice, chin resting on his hand as he watched Arthur’s face. And eventually he was rewarded with a flash of dark eyes, and a twitch at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. 

It was enough to set his pulse racing and shorten his breath. It also meant the chase was on.

************

Across the table Arthur kept his eyes on Cobb, listening to him talk about all the things he had been doing with his children, their new house and how much they had grown. But he had not spent that much time in the military without learning to compartmentalise. So while he looked like an attentive audience for the adventures of the Cobb family, he was really taking careful note of the man sitting not three feet from him.

Eames was always on his radar, one of the few people Arthur kept track of. He didn’t need a conversation to know exactly where he had been in the last year, what he’d stolen, who he’d fucked. Not that Arthur was jealous, mind you. But he did find it interesting that Eames’ conquests all looked like him enough to convince in a darkened room. 

Eames puzzled him in a way nobody else did. If he was being honest with himself, Arthur found him utterly fascinating. Eames was extraordinarily chaotic to his mind from his dreadful fashion choices, to behaving like an East End gangster when he possessed a pedigree far more aristocratic than people would ever give him credit for. He was a masterclass in entropy. And that wonderful haphazardness was what drew Arthur like a moth to a flame. 

The sex wasn’t half bad either, if by half bad he meant the best he had ever had. That was one of the many things about Eames that truly grated on Arthur, the way Eames took him and stretched him and twisted him up until Arthur lost every bit of self-control he possessed, begging and writhing and in some cases threatening bodily injury while Eames held him at the edge of ecstasy for what seemed like hours, and sometimes was. 

And all over the handful of times they’d fallen into bed together. And now he could feel Eames’ gaze on him, a laser beam of focused intent that he could read as easily as if Eames had been speaking to him directly. And he knew what was going through his head when Eames looked at him that way. This party was going to get very interesting very fast. But if Eames thought that an intense stare from those admittedly hypnotic blue-grey eyes was going to get him on side so easily, well then it would be Arthur’s pleasure to prove him wrong. After all the never-ending dance they did around each other was what made it all so interesting.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give things a little bump in the right direction. So when Cobb turned and said something to Saito, Arthur took the opportunity and looked at Eames. It was nothing much, just a quick glance. He locked eyes with Eames for barely a handful of seconds, allowed himself a ghost of a smile. The effect was immediate. Eames’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and his lips parted for the briefest of moments. It made Arthur’s breath hitch to see that gorgeous full mouth, and the impact his attention had had on it. He loved Eames’ mouth, filthy thing that it was. It never disappointed him. 

Delighted to see that Eames clearly understood the game, he returned to the conversation. And all the while his mind plotted out his next move.


End file.
